


Look After You

by idoltina



Series: Breakeven [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Blood, Cancer, Explicit Language, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-19
Updated: 2011-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:45:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>All of the pieces of you, they don't fit together until someone walks into your life and shows you how they connect. It's just nice to have someone to share your life with.</i> This is the story of David and Luke, of firsts, of fears, and of being faithful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Last the Year

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Language, graphic details of sex and serious illness/treatment

**Prologue: Last the Year - September 2029**

The sun is soft and yellow and warm, stretched out lazily across Luke's chest and playing with the blond in his hair. David smiles sleepily and rolls onto his side, fingers reaching out to trace over Luke's skin. His thumb swipes across Luke's lips before falling down to Luke's hand; David intertwines their fingers and uses his other hand to continue his mapping. He drags his fingers up slowly, feather-light against the scar on Luke's chest and reaches around to the back of Luke's neck where he knows another scar lies. David rolls over a little more, hooking a leg over Luke's and running his toes, the heel of his foot over the bones in Luke's ankle, up and around his calf. David leans in and presses his lips to the closed lids of Luke's eyes.

“Hey,” David says quietly, reaching out to card his fingers through Luke's hair.

“F've more min -- ffffff,” Luke grumbles into the pillow, twisting slightly. David fights back a smile and leans down to kiss Luke softly, hand rubbing at the back of Luke's neck. When he pulls away, Luke opens his eyes. “Mmm,” he hums pleasantly, “morning.”

“You hungry?”

Luke closes his eyes and buries himself under the comforter a little more. “A little,” he admits.

“You don't have to put on a show,” David laughs. “I was going to offer you breakfast in bed. French toast.”

Luke opens his eyes again, eyebrows raised. “Let's see,” he muses. “It's not my birthday yet, and it's not Christmas, or our anniversary... right?” he checks, glancing sideways at David.

“None of those,” David assures him, laughing again.

Luke smiles a little. “Is this 'just because' french toast?”

David's smile falters a little. “No,” he says quietly.

“So it _is_ special french toast then,” Luke deduces. “What's the occasion?”

David grows quiet and glances down, the tip of his index finger following his gaze and tracing down Luke's neck to the scar on his chest; he hears, sees, feels Luke's breath hitch in his chest at the reminder and realization. “Five years,” David murmurs. “Five years and one day. I just... felt like it was something to celebrate.” He flicks his eyes back up and finds Luke biting his lip.

“I thought we weren't going to do this,” Luke reminds him gently. “I thought we weren't going to worry.”

“We're not,” David insists. “I'm not. Especially not now. That's sort of the point.”

Luke's hand wraps around to David's back and David knows without needing to feel it that Luke is tracing the scar there, light and pensive. “Are you nervous?” Luke asks distractedly. “About tonight?”

“I don't want to think about it,” David sighs, shifting his body a little closer to recapture Luke's attention. “Tonight can be about me. This morning is about you.”

Luke finally meets David's eyes again and smiles, slow and warm. “French toast sounds good,” he says finally. “You'll share it with me?”

David leans in to kiss him again. “Don't I share everything with you?”

Luke grins into the kiss. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You do.”


	2. Owning All the Fines

**One: Owning All the Fines - January 2020**

“Will you stop?” David huffs out, batting Luke's hands away from the pillow. “You're hovering. It doesn't suit you.”

Luke snaps his hands back quickly and sinks into the chair next to the hospital bed, color creeping onto his cheeks. “I can't help it,” he defends. “You just came out of surgery. What am I supposed to do? Not worry?”

David sighs. “I get that you're worried. But I'm here. I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere. Relax.” Luke smiles a little at him.

“Uncle Dave!”

David glances over and down as Kurt and Blaine's son comes hurtling towards him. Blaine comes wheeling around the corner on a sharp turn, out of breath and stumbling. “Be gentle!” he calls out after his son, trying to keep up.

“It's fine,” David laughs. Luke dips down to pick Jacob up and sets him down on the edge of the bed.

Jacob moves to throw his arms around David's waist but hesitates when Blaine's hand rests on his shoulder. “Gentle,” he reminds his son.

Jacob glances at David nervously. “You got hurt.”

David nods. “I did. But I'll feel a lot better if you give me a hug.” Jacob lights up at that and launches forward, nestling his cheek against David's abdomen. “You didn't have to come,” he adds, addressing Blaine. “I'm fine.”

There's a humming noise from the doorway; David glances over to find Kurt leaning against the frame, arms folded across his chest. He looks a lot older than twenty-six. “Don't be ridiculous,” Kurt says after a moment, pushing himself off of the frame and crossing the room to join them. “We always look after our own. And besides,” he adds, flicking his gaze over at Luke, “Brit said Luke sounded hysterical on the phone.”

“I think hysterical is exaggerating,” Luke mumbles as David grins over at him.

“Did you call my parents, too?” David asks. “It was a car accident, Luke. No one had to --”

“I actually had to talk your dad out of flying out,” a new voice interjects. David glances over and smiles in spite of himself. “I would've let him until Luke texted to let us know you were awake. You owe your parents a phone call in the next two hours.” Santana leans over a little and pokes playfully at Jacob's side. “Hey short stuff,” she teases. “Make room. Auntie Tana wants to give your Uncle Dave a hug too.” Jacob scoots over (barely) as Santana wraps an arm around David's neck; David nods at Brittany over Santana's shoulder before closing his eyes and inhaling, the smell of her shampoo flooding his senses. He feels safe.

When she pulls away, David swallows thickly and has to look over at Luke to refocus himself. “Your choice,” Luke murmurs after a minute. “They're all here but it's your choice.”

It takes David a second to register what Luke's implying, what he thinks David wants. David blinks as he looks from Brittany to Santana to Kurt to Blaine and then down at Jacob, where David's left hand is hooked around his back -- “Oh.”

“Oh?” Santana echos, an amused smile playing at her lips. “Something you're not telling me?”

“I --” David hesitates, glancing over at Luke again who just smiles, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “We're... getting married.”

The room is dead silent for a moment. Santana is the first to speak. “You're _what_?”

“Getting married,” Brittany supplies, grinning as she crosses the room to throw her arms around Luke's neck. Luke's smile is tentative, though, as he looks over her shoulder at the rest of the group.

Santana just stares at David. “You little --” Blaine nudges her harshly with his elbow, gesturing towards Jacob. Santana bites her lip and rephrases. “Unbelievable. You. Are. Unbelievable,” she hisses. “How long have you been keeping this from me?”

“It only happened last night,” Luke explains, untangling himself from Brittany. He glances over at David and blushes.

“Oh,” Blaine huffs out. “That's -- no wonder you were in hysterics, then.”

Jacob pulls back a little and pulls David's hand from his back before glancing down at it. “You don't have a ring,” he says. He looks over at Luke. “Why don't you have rings?”

“They're not married yet,” Blaine laughs, ruffling Jacob's hair.

David smiles a little down at Jacob but falters when he looks over at Kurt. Blaine follows David's eyes, worry filling the lines of his face. “Kurt?” Blaine prompts gently. Kurt inhales sharply at the sound, spins on his heel, and bolts out the door. Six pairs of eyes stare after him, but it's Blaine who makes to follow. He hesitates, though, when Jacob grabs his hand.

“Go,” Brittany urges. “We'll watch him.” Blaine's out the door without another word.

“Why is Papa upset?” Jacob asks, looking up at David. “He was scared on the plane because you got hurt but you're okay now. Why did Daddy leave too?”

David look down at Jacob and meets the boy's wide eyes with his own, bewildered. It's sort of striking how much Jacob actually looks like them sometimes, Kurt in particular, even though biologically, he's not theirs. Jacob looks up into David's face, so much like Kurt, Kurt who is out of the room because David is getting married --

And suddenly David's not looking at Jacob any more; he's looking at a sixteen-year-old Kurt, eyes wide and terrified, trembling as David's finger presses into his chest and reaches out for a cake topper --

David releases his hold on Jacob with a gasp and shifts as far away as he possibly can, weakened body screaming in protest and pillows flattening underneath his weight. “Uncle Dave?” Jacob asks, bottom lip sticking out. He reaches out for David again but Brittany's there before he can manage to make contact again. David shifts in his bed a little as Brittany pries Jacob off of him. “Come on, Jake,” she urges. “Auntie Tana and I will take you down to the cafeteria and get you a snack, okay?”

Jacob takes her hand. “Is Papa going to be okay?”

“Papa will be fine,” Santana assures him, crouching down to tweak his nose affectionately. “Daddy's looking after him. Let's go get you some chocolate milk.” She rises to her feet again, taking Jacob's other hand in hers, but glances worriedly back at David. “Do you need me to stay?” she asks quietly.

David shakes his head ( _live to be a douche bag another day_ ), quiet as they leave the room. “David?”

He turns towards the voice and it's not Luke, it's Sam, in his face and bloodied and bruised and wearing too-flattering jeans --

David squeezes his eyes shut and looks away, shaking. This is him at his worst, all fist and monster, anger and aggression and fear and disappointing everyone, no one in his corner. “David?” He feels Sam's fingers intertwine with his own and he jerks away a little. Somewhere in the abyss of his mind, there's a faint echo of a constant, steady beeping sound steadily growing faster, and the part of him that's barely present recognizes it as the monitor following his racing heartbeat.

“David,” the voice says again, firm. Sam's hand rests on his cheek and it's enough to make David open his eyes and turn to look at him. His perception is hazy, brain too muddled to distinguish the difference between now and then, between Luke and Sam, Jacob and Kurt, himself and the monster in his veins. The blonde man in front of him is staring at him with striking blue eyes ( _Kurt_ ); the man moves the thumb resting against David's face in a gentle circle, coaxing. David breathes and tries to think.

Sam wouldn't touch him this way. Sam's fist would be colliding with his face again and again in defense of Kurt, and that's not happening. Sam is comforting him.

Not Sam. Luke.

David blinks, almost present again, but he has to be sure. “Kiss me,” he begs. Luke blinks, startled and confused, but he obliges with David's request and leans in, lips soft and pliant and gentle and almost trembling with worry. David breaks the kiss with a relieved gasp. “Luke.”

Luke nods, smile hesitant. “Yeah, hey. Where'd you go just now?”

“McKinley,” David sighs, fingers still shaking a little in Luke's grasp. “I know why he left.”

Luke tilts his head to the side, moving his hand from David's face to his hair, fingers carding through it distractedly. “Why'd he leave? I don't -- is he not happy about us getting married?”

“I don't know. Probably not. It's -- when his dad got remarried, I was... awful to him. I --” David shrugs himself out of Luke's embrace, pressing shaking hands hard into his temple. “I scared the shit out of him, Luke. I --”

Luke's hands are back on David's wrists in a flash, jerking David's hands away from his face harshly and forcing their eyes to meet. “Hey, no,” Luke says firmly, mouth set in a thin line. “You are not that person any more. I know that. Kurt knows that.”

David smiles faintly at him. “I thought he did. Now I'm not so sure.” Every muscle in Luke's face falls but the hands holding David's wrist tighten.

David bites his lip as Kurt reappears in the doorway, pale but otherwise composed. He looks a lot younger than twenty-six. Blaine isn't far behind, his hand resting firm on Kurt's shoulder.

“Can we have a minute?” Kurt asks, looking at Luke.

Luke glances down at David who nods immediately. “I'm right outside if you need me,” Luke murmurs into David's ear. He joins Blaine in the hallway, who leans up and whispers into Kurt's ear as well before disappearing with Luke down the hallway; Kurt shuts the door behind him.

“I'm sorry,” Kurt says after a moment. “It's... been a while since I've associated you this... intimately with weddings.”

“I don't think you're the one who should be apologizing,” David counters, and suddenly he can't meet Kurt's eyes any more because they're not twenty-six, they're sixteen and at odds and David is a monster --

“Stop,” Kurt snaps, closing the distance between them. “We've been over this. I'm not mad at you. I don't hold grudges. This is ancient history, Dave.”

David keeps his gaze trained on his hands and the ache in his chest comes roaring back and it's not his recent wounds causing it. “Not ancient enough.”

“Ten years,” Kurt says quietly, sinking into the chair Luke had previously occupied. “I thought we agreed you were going to stop punishing yourself.”

“Not as long as you're still reacting like this. I haven't seen you like this in --”

“Ten years,” Kurt repeats, much more firm this time. “Any animosity or anger or fear I felt because of you got left in Figgins' office.”

David does look up at that, blinking in surprise. “What?”

Kurt stops to gather himself for a moment before inching the chair closer to the bed. “When you and Santana were trying to get me to come back to McKinley, the choice was in my hands. I told you I had options. I told you I could tell everyone the truth.”

The ache in David's chest warms a little. “But you didn't.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I didn't. But I remember how you reacted when I told you I could, even though I said I wouldn't.” He stops, eyes locked with David's for a moment. “You looked as terrified as I felt.”

“You got that,” David points out. “From the very beginning, the second I --” And even after ten years, David still can't say it to Kurt's face, can't own up to what he did and just fucking apologize for it. “I don't know that I deserved you trying to save me.”

Kurt tries not to smile. “You didn't deserve to suffer that much. Neither did I. The point is that you apologized, Dave. You said you were sorry more than once.”

David bites his lip. “It was worst right before your dad got married. I don't feel like I've made up for that. What I did was --”

“What you did was act out of fear,” Kurt sighs, and it's clear that he's exasperated. “And you're doing it again now. If you really want to make it up to me, Dave, then stop punishing yourself. Let it go.”

David shakes his head. “I don't know how you've done it, how you've planned weddings, how you can think of your dad's wedding without --”

“I think about happiness.” Kurt's shoulder relax a little and he smiles, warm and bright and not upset, not angry, not afraid. “I don't think about what you did. I think about the fact that I've never seen my dad as happy as he was the day he married Carole. I think about you walking Santana down the aisle. I think about Blaine promising me he'll love me always. And now, I get to think about you and what a disaster your reception is going to be because you refuse to dance most of the time.”

And finally, finally, David relaxes because it's okay. He's not sixteen anymore. He's not afraid. He's not alone. He's not a monster. He returns Kurt's smile. “Maybe I can talk Brittany into helping me out.”

Kurt laughs. “I bet Luke would like that.” David's phone vibrates on the table next to the bed. He glances over to see a text from Santana reminding him to call his parents. “You should,” Kurt encourages, pushing himself to his feet. “They're probably worried. And you should tell them,” he adds, “about you and Luke.”

David nods, rolling the phone over in his hand as Kurt turns to walk away; impulsively, David reaches out and encloses his hand around Kurt's wrist. Kurt turns to look at him, eyebrows arched in question, and the words come tumbling out of David's mouth before he can stop them. “Be my best man?”

Kurt blinks rapidly as his whole face relaxes in surprise. His eyes are a little glossy by the time he manages to react properly, and his voice is shaking when he speaks. “Santana will throw a fit.”

“Anderson already got her,” David jokes. Kurt chuckles a little but goes quiet again almost immediately. “I'll work something out.”

Kurt flicks his gaze up from their hands to meet David's eyes, and David knows Kurt's fighting back tears as he nods. “Yeah,” Kurt chokes out. “Yeah, of course.” He leans forward and wraps both arms around David's neck tightly, chin hooking over David's shoulder. “It'd be an honor.”


	3. Slow On the Split

**Two: Slow on the Split - October 2024**

The front door clicks shut behind them; David sets the duffle bag on the floor and straightens to help Luke, who tiredly tries to shrug off his coat but can't quite manage it on his own. David has time to hang the coat up in the front closet and follow Luke as he shuffles slowly into the kitchen, hands rubbing at his eyes --

“Happy Birthday!”

Both men stop at the threshold of the kitchen and look up, blinking in surprise. Brittany greets them, a brilliant smile illuminating her face. She's got oven mitts on both hands and is holding a tray of cupcakes that she's obviously just taken out of the oven. “Brittany,” Luke sighs, smiling a little. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she apologizes with a grin, setting the tray on the counter and engulfing her best friend in a warm hug, oven mitts resting awkwardly at the back of Luke's neck.

“What are you doing here?” Luke laughs, settling onto one of the bar stools and helping Brittany tug the mitts off of her hands.

“More importantly, how did you get in?” David adds, grinning at her.

“Oh, you guys keep a spare key under the garden gnome,” she says with a shrug. “Doesn't everyone do that?”

David arches his eyebrows at Luke, who simply rolls his eyes in response and turns his attention back to Brittany. “Why are you here?” he asks again.

“I know you started treatment today,” she says quietly, fingers dancing over the top of Luke's wrist, “and we wanted to take turns being here for it --”

“Take turns?” David echos, leaning against the counter next to the stove.

Brittany nods, biting her lip nervously. “Sessions are every two weeks, right? We thought you might want some help, or just some company or something. And I get to go first.”

David softens a little, arms unfolding and shoulders relaxing. A small smile plays at Luke's lips and he shakes his head, grasping Brittany's hand with his own and leaning up to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Besides,” she says, perking up a bit, “it's your birthday. And everyone deserves cupcakes on their birthday. I haven't frosted them yet though. You got home before I had time.”

Luke glances sideways at David, face slightly crestfallen. “Oh, that's... really nice of you, Brit, but --”

“You don't like cupcakes?” she asks, face falling a little.

“I love cupcakes,” Luke assures her, grasping her hand a little more tightly. “It's just -- the chemo just makes me nauseous. I don't really feel like eating right now.” Brittany nods, thumb caressing gently over Luke's hand. Luke closes his eyes and inhales sharply, sitting back a little. “Can you move them?” he asks through gritted teeth. “The smell is --”

Brittany fumbles for an oven mitt to grab the still-hot tray and move it from the kitchen island; David crosses the three paces between them and reaches out a hand, letting it rest gently on Luke's shoulder. “Do you want --” David starts.

Luke shakes his head, chin tucked firmly against his chest, eyes squeezed shut. His breathing is uneven for a moment as David's hand rests on his shoulder. Brittany grips the edge of the kitchen island nervously, knuckles turning white and eyes widening with worry. Luke exhales slowly after a moment though and lifts his head, a little pale but otherwise composed.

“You're bleeding,” Brittany points out with a small gasp.

David ducks his head a little to get a better look at Luke's face as Luke's fingers trace faintly at the skin underneath his nose. Red glistens on his fingertips as he pulls them away. “Oh,” Luke says awkwardly, glancing around the kitchen for something to clean up with. “I --”

“Here,” Brittany offers, reaching into a drawer and unearthing one of their nicer napkins before pressing it into David's hand.

“Don't tilt your head back,” David instructs, pressing the napkin against Luke's nose.

It's quiet for a moment before a shallow laugh escapes Luke's mouth. “This is so backwards, me with a nosebleed.”

His eyes flicker up to meet David's for a second, and even though David can't see Luke's mouth, the glitter of the smile reaches Luke's eyes. David's mouth twists into a half-amused smile. “You're an asshole,” he laughs, shaking his head.

Luke reaches up to pry David's hand from the napkin, wiping his nose clean and tossing the napkin onto the counter. “You like my asshole,” Luke counters. Brittany chokes out a laugh and moves forward, shoving at Luke's shoulder playfully. Luke's smile falters a little as he reaches up to rub at the spot Brittany's just touched.

“You okay?” David asks tentatively, relaxing his grip on Luke's other shoulder.

Luke nods, rolling his shoulders backwards. “I think I'm going to take a bath, though.”

Brittany fidgets uncomfortably, shifting form one leg to the other. “I'll frost the cupcakes and... put them away, I guess. You can eat them when you feel a little better.” Luke shifts up and off of the stool, tapping Brittany's nose affectionately before trudging towards the bedroom. David glances sideways at Brittany for a moment before following Luke.

David takes a few moments to help his husband, hands fiddling with the knobs of the tub, fingers working to undo the buttons of Luke's shirt and pants to prevent Luke from having to fumble with them. It's not that Luke's incapable of doing any of this himself (not yet, anyway); Luke is more _tired_ than anything else, fatigued and worn and uneasy on his feet. David knows Luke's body is adjusting to the onslaught of drugs being administered to him and it shows even now, at the beginning. Luke presses a sleepy kiss to the corner of David's mouth and steps gingerly into the tub.

David pulls the door to and crosses the bedroom to the foot of the bed at the center of the room, eyes darting from the nightstand (torn and empty condom wrapper from the night before) to the dresser (framed photograph from their wedding, David's watch, a few one dollar bills and some change from Luke's wallet) to the closet (door half open, shirts unbuttoned and ties dangling and clothes that still fit Luke, for now). The room is empty and quiet and everything about it screams _normal_ , but it's not. David's eyes fall at last to the slightly open bathroom door (Luke in the bath, drained from chemo) before closing; he sinks down onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, unsteady on his feet.

It's a few moments before there's a warm hand on his knee; he looks up to find Brittany kneeling in front of him. She considers him, eyes questioning and concerned, and he only has to meet her gaze for a few seconds before she pushes herself to her feet and wraps her arms tightly around David. He stiffens a little, caught off guard, but relaxes as she nestles her chin against his shoulder. Slowly, he brings his arms up to encircle her, to let himself be held and to hug back. She doesn't speak until he exhales heavily into her ear. “He's tough,” she says thickly. “He'll be okay. You'll keep him together.”

David nods against her shoulder before pulling back a little. She kneels in front of him again and he offers her a smile smile. “Hey,” she says gently, reaching for his hand. “I know you and I haven't always been good friends.”

David shrugs, shifting uncomfortably. “You're Luke's best friend,” he reasons. “I'm glad you're here for him, especially today.”

Brittany tilts her head to the side, surveying him curiously. “I was talking about you,” she says slowly. “Us. I know we're not good friends, but I'm here if you need me. We all are. You know that, right?” David can't fight the smile that creeps onto his face; he nods and lets Brittany engulf him again, his hand tangling loosely in her ponytail. “We always look after our own.”


	4. Pour a Little Salt

**Three: Pour a Little Salt - June 2016**

The champagne burns at David's throat in a way that's not unpleasant but a little too sweet; he coughs, setting the glass down on a nearby table as Luke comes whizzing by, grabbing his hand and dragging him out onto the dance floor. “Come dance with me!” Luke laughs.

David laughs back, stumbling a little and falling flush against Luke. “No,” he says. “We've been over this. I do not dance.”

“You took Santana to prom,” Luke whines, toying with David's tie. “It's a wedding. This is totally the same thing.”

David's mouth twists into an amused smile. “So... you want me to pretend you're Santana? I mean, I don't know. You probably could've pulled off that dress, you have the figure for it, but red's not really your color --”

“You're an asshole,” Luke scoffs, batting David on the shoulder. He softens a little, though, when David's hands slide down to his waist, waiting for Luke to move. Luke arches an eyebrow. “You want me to lead, let me lead.”

David rolls his eyes but moves his hands up to rest around Luke's neck. Luke laughs and shakes his head, prying one of David's hands from his neck and clasping it firmly. “Maybe we should get you dancing lessons. God forbid this were your own wedding, you know.”

David hums thoughtfully. “If it were my wedding, it'd be my rules. And I wouldn't have to dance.”

“Oh, I'm sure your husband would appreciate that,” Luke chuckles. There's something warm in his eyes and his smile, though, as he meets David's eyes for a moment. “Looks like the happy couple is staging a getaway,” he says after a moment, nodding towards the ballroom doors.

David glances around and finds Kurt and Blaine with joined hands, tangled up in each other as they try and fail to stifle their laughter and creep out of their own reception. “Can you blame them?” he asks, turning back to face Luke.

Luke surveys him thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head. “No,” he admits. “I was thinking about heading up to the room soon too. I've already had three glasses of champagne.”

“Oh god, you are cut off,” David laughs.

Luke smacks him on the shoulder again before pulling away a little, leaning back toward the table and handing David the unfinished glass of champagne. “I know for a fact that this is still most of your third glass,” Luke announces. “Finish this and catch up.”

David raises an eyebrow but takes the glass, still sipping instead of draining the glass in one swig. “And what do you gain by trying to get me drunk?” he asks between drinks.

“I'm trying to level the playing field.” Luke eyes the glass as David holds it before reaching over and taking it back, draining the rest of the glass for him. “Hmm, nevermind. I just like drinks.”

“Okay, you're properly buzzed,” David allows, setting the glass down and tugging Luke out into the hall. “We should leave before things get out of hand.”

“It's a ballroom, not a gay bar,” Luke argues, but he allows David to usher him into the elevator. David hits the button for their floor, and the second the doors click shut, Luke's lips are on his.

“God,” David laughs into his mouth, anchoring his hands at Luke's hips. “Has anyone ever told you you're a really handsy drunk?”

“I'm not drunk,” Luke argues. “I'm buzzed. And if I'm being handsy, at least it's with you,” he adds, leaning in for another kiss. David indulges him until the elevator doors open again; he breaks the kiss reluctantly, dragging Luke out of the elevator towards their room by the elbow. He fumbles in his pocket for the key card as Luke leans up and in, lips dancing across David's jaw and down his neck. It's another moment until they're behind closed doors again and then Luke is pressed against him, arms wrapped around his neck and tongue vying eagerly for David's. And David knows what Luke wants, reaches his hands down to put them to good use. Luke only breaks the kisses to murmur, “Mmm, back pocket,” against David's lips. David reaches around blindly and digs his fingers into the back pocket of Luke's pants, fingers gripping plastic --

David snatches his hand back like he's been burned, messily breaking the kiss and leaving Luke gaping after him a little. Luke blinks, caught off guard, but the smile returns to his face easily as he leans in again, fingers trailing down toward the waistband of David's slacks. “Hey,” he buzzes against David's lips. “Trust me.”

I do,” David chokes out. “It's just --”

Luke pulls back with an impatient sigh. “David, we've been together six months. I realize you like to take your time in making a move but this is a little ridiculous.”

David's brow furrows. “It's not like we haven't done anything -- that night at the drive-in...”

Luke smirks a little. “Amazing, yes,” Luke concedes. “But don't you want that again? Don't you want more?” he pries, fingers dancing down the buttons of David's jacket. “Don't you want --” He stops for a moment, leaning up and ghosting air along David's jawline, lips halting just far away enough from David's ear so that they're not touching. “Don't you want me?” he asks, whining a little, and god, he is being so unfair. Luke's hand falls and cups David through his pants gently. Luke adopts an entirely different tone after that, low and calculating, tongue swiping wetly at David's earlobe. “Haven't you always wanted me?” he whispers, and god, David can't even think anymore, there's no blood left in his brain and he just _wants_ , just like he always has.

The rest is almost a haze, foggy and blurred by arousal. There's no hesitation with Luke's lips against his (wet and trailing down his neck, _so good_ ), no awkward pauses as their slacks hit the floor (Luke's fingers lightning fast as they unbutton David's dress shirt). Past that point, though, the memories start to become a little clearer: Luke unearths a bottle of lube from his suitcase and tries to pass it off to David, who shakes his head and pushes it back into Luke's hands. There's a steady pounding as blood pounds through David and he crawls onto the bed, but the shame he feels is gone almost instantly as Luke's hands caress over his ass ( _so gorgeous_ ). David tries not to overthink it, tries to just trust (Luke's lips along his spine, pressing against his ear, _relax_ ). From there it's all tight, wet, heat (the crinkle of the condom wrapper from Luke's back pocket as he rips it open) and David gives himself over.

David only begs once ( _let me see your face_ ) and ends up on his back, Luke between his legs. It takes less than five seconds for their chests to find each other, lips following; David's hands wrap up and around and settle at Luke's scapulas, tugging him closer (Luke makes a pleased sound and nuzzles against David's neck, _so warm_ ).

David can't get his head to clear, can't think straight because _heat and skin and Luke_ ; by the time it really starts to register that yes, he's having sex with a man, and yes, this might actually feel good, Luke pulls out and moves up, uncapping the bottle of lube again and reaching for David's hand. “Switch,” Luke says breathlessly. “Need you.” And suddenly David's fingers are damp and just _there_ , lingering; Luke shifts his hips down and -- “Breathe,” Luke urges with a gasp. “I'm fine.”

David exhales, long and slow, and tries not to look so terrified as Luke digs through the pockets of his pants on the floor for another condom. This is why he'd forced the bottle back into Luke's hands, why he'd let Luke take the lead. Because this, this is Luke trusting David and giving David the power to break him and if he fucks up --

“God,” Luke groans, sinking down. He waits for a moment, palm pressed flat against David's chest, before nodding. “Move.” Up and in and so tight and Luke falls forward, his chest against David's again. “Can you --” David stops; Luke glances down at where David's hands are anchored to his hips. “Hands,” he says finally. It takes David a second to register what Luke's asking for but once he does, he slowly brings his hands back up to settle on Luke's shoulder blades. Luke smiles against him and it's all a blur from there, hips canting up and off of the mattress and bodies too close to tell the difference; David's fingers bend and tense and shake against Luke's back and shoulders as they come.

It takes him a minute to even really think properly again, blood pounding furiously in his chest and Luke shifts against him, back first into David's hands and then forward, urging David to hold him closer. “I think you're as close as I can get you,” David laughs, and he shouldn't be laughing but he kind of can't do anything else because there are too many endorphins in his system.

Luke hums. “This,” he says, rolling his shoulders against David's hands. “I like this. It's -- no one's ever treated me the way you do. It's nice.”

David lifts his head from the pillow to look down at Luke; their eyes meet, and David's chest aches. He hates this, he hates that no one has ever appreciated the man curled into him, hates that Luke's been so mistreated that he felt like he didn't matter. David hates that he's the one who's the first to really try, and he's so, so scared that he's going to screw it up. But then again, there's always _I'm not going anywhere_ and they both have to believe it for this to work.

David leans in, heart pounding, and kisses Luke senseless, fighting hard not to let the ache in his chest become something more vocal. He's never been good with words, he's never been good with feelings, he's never been good with relationships, he's -- _fuck_ , he's never been good with anything, except maybe football and math and making a complete fool of himself. He still has so much to prove.

He pulls away, breathing heavily over Luke's face, only vaguely aware of Luke's cock brushing against his thigh. When he opens his eyes, Luke's are still closed, but his trademark smile is all there, luminous and blinding. The ache in David's chest tightens its hold on him a little more and he tenses; the ache threatens to turn vocal again, clawing its way up his throat, the monster returning...

David inhales sharply and rolls out from under his boyfriend (and wow, yeah, okay, no, he's not ever going to get used to that), arms shaking with the effort to keep quiet. He feels Luke shift next to him. “Hey,” Luke says softly. “What's the matter?”

David turns to face him, and there's the fucking blue again, but he can handle it better than he can handle Luke's stupid smile, so he plasters a smile on his face and shakes his head. “It's nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Luke murmurs. “You went somewhere just now. There's something you're not telling me.” David swallows thickly, hoping that Luke won't smile because David will lose all resolve if he does. He shakes his head, unanswering, and Luke's eyes narrow. “We've known each other almost four years,” Luke points out. “I thought you trusted me. Fuck, no, I know you trust me, David. Especially after this.”

But he can't, David can't, he can't do this because it's too much too soon and the timing is all wrong. “I do trust you,” David insists. “I just... I can't tell you. I can't.”

“David, you once told me that you threatened someone's life,” Luke says dryly. “Unless you've actually murdered someone recently, _I'm not going anywhere_.” David knows that, he knows that, he has to believe it for this to work, but he can't fight the lingering doubt in his gut, the one that tells him that if he tells Luke this now, it's all going to go wrong. Luke will walk -- no, sprint is more like it -- away. He looks at Luke pleadingly, jaw shaking in the effort to stay shut, and Luke recoils. “Fine,” Luke says coldly. “Don't tell me.” And then Luke is rolling over, pushing himself up and swinging his legs off of the mattress --

“Don't go,” David chokes out, hand reaching out and falling lamely to the mattress an entire foot away from Luke. Luke hesitates, sitting at the edge of the bed, comforter encompassing his waist and thighs. He glances over his shoulder back at David, just barely, and waits.

Fuck, David _has_ to do this.

David reaches out a tentative hand again, fingers tracing down the vertebrae of Luke's spine as the monster roars triumphantly, billowing up through David's body like a cloud of dark smoke, settling in his chest and throat, constricting his airway. Luke shivers, just slightly, and turns all the way around again, looking down at David expectantly. His face is a lot softer, and the last bits of David's resolve buzz at the tips of his fingers, hesitant, waiting.

And then Luke smiles, and David can't stop himself. The monster wins.

“I love you,” he breathes.

The smile is gone almost instantly and Luke's jaw goes slack, eyes wide and muscles unmoving. “You what?”

“I --” David shifts, propping himself up underneath the rest of the comforter. “I love you,” he repeats, but it feels less right to say, was never that right to say, not now. He hesitates for a second before reaching out his hand again.

Luke recoils instantly. “Don't,” he gasps. “Just -- can you go? I need -- I need some space.”

“I -- okay.” David blinks and shakes his head before rolling out of the bed, snatching his boxers and dress pants up off of the floor. He shrugs his button-down on but leaves it undone, glancing over his shoulder at Luke's back. The door closes behind him with a click, and David sinks to the floor.

Fuck, why can't he ever do anything right?

Where did he even go wrong?

“Hey.”

David glances up to find Blaine hovering over him, a bottle of champagne and two empty glasses in his hands. He's barely dressed, slacks loose and shirt unbuttoned, and David wishes he felt like laughing. “Hey.” Blaine hesitates for a moment before sinking down next to him, setting the bottle and glasses on the floor. “Shouldn't you be with Kurt?” David murmurs, glancing down at his knees.

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees, but David can still feel Blaine watching him, curious and calculating and it makes David uncomfortable. “Saw you out here on the way back to the room. You look like you need someone to talk to.”

David smiles faintly over at him. “I'm fine,” he lies. “Go back to your husband. It's your wedding night.”

Blaine cocks his head to the side. “I've got a few minutes. Kurt was sleeping when I left.” David trains his gaze to his knees again but doesn't answer. “So you had sex,” Blaine says without preamble after a moment.

David does laugh at that even though it's not even remotely funny. “Is it that obvious?”

Blaine reaches over and tugs at David's open shirt, smirking. “Welcome to the club. How was it?”

“Fine, I think. Good,” David answers, but the ache in his chest rips into a hole and he can't smile, can't be happy about it.

“And yet you're sitting out here,” Blaine points out.

“It's where he wanted me,” David admits, and that's what hurts the most, now. Luke doesn't want him in the room, doesn't want to be touched, doesn't want David. David feels the least human he has in ages, out in the doghouse and ripped to pieces by the monster that destroys any progress he's made.

“Okay, back up,” Blaine sighs. “You left the reception. You came up here. You had sex. Why did he ask you to leave?”

“I don't know,” David groans. “It was fine- _fine_. We talked a little, after, and --”

“And?” Blaine prompts. “You know more than you're letting on, David.”

David colors guiltily. “And I wanted to wait to say it, but he could tell something was up and I couldn't help it --”

“You told him you loved him.” David looks over at Blaine and bites his lip. “Wow,” Blaine breathes. “That's just -- wow. And then he asked you to leave?” David nods. Blaine bites back a smile. “Oh, David,” he laughs. “Did you ever consider that maybe you're the first guy to tell him that?”

“I --” David blinks. “No,” he admits. “I know I'm not his first boyfriend.”

“Maybe not,” Blaine allows, “but you're probably a lot of firsts for him, just like he is for you. You see him differently than most guys do, remember? He might still be getting used to that. It's only been six months.”

“In comparison to how long it took me to build up the nerve to kiss him, I feel like I'm making leaps now,” David huffs out. “Six months isn't that long.”

“That's... sort of my point,” Blaine says gently. “Look, you've been in love with him for a long time. He's only just getting around to thinking about you this way. Give him some time to catch up.”

David looks up, startled. “I didn't expect him to say it back.”

Blaine considers him for a moment. “You said you wanted to wait to say it. Why? What was wrong about the timing?”

David sighs and rests his head against the door. “I don't know. I didn't want to say it after sex? I didn't want him to think I said it _because_ of the sex?”

“You didn't want him to think you were using him like everyone else,” Blaine finishes for him. He's quiet for a moment, eyes trailing from David's face to his feet and back up again. “We're back to that point. It's a lot for him to deal with. I think... I think you did the right thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“By leaving,” Blaine clarifies. “He obviously needed space to sort this out, and I don't think he would've been able to do that with you there. You being out here is a good thing.”

“Feels pretty lousy,” David mumbles, looking down at the floor between his legs.

“Why are you in love with him?”

David half-glances at Blaine. “What?”

“Why are you in love with him?” Blaine repeats. “Beyond being attracted to him and admiring his work ethic and his relationship with his mom. Why did you fall in love with him?”

David turns his head so his cheek rests against the door, warm skin uncomfortable against the wood; he closes his eyes and breathes.

Why is he in love with Luke?

He thinks of Luke's smile and the way it makes his stomach twist in knots, the way it compromises his ability to say 'no.' He remembers being alone in a cold bathroom and hearing Luke's voice, feeling his hands pressed against his face and meeting his eyes; pickles and mustard and late night pizza and a passenger seat, and David knows that Luke doesn't share that with anyone else. Math books and Luke's groans of frustration and composing articles and football and Jodi Foster and the clack clack clack of a typewriter --

David opens his eyes, sleepy and warm and unfocused and he barely registers that Blaine is there until -- “You came alive when you met him.” David blinks, trying to focus but the ache is starting to dull and the hole is starting to fill and _this_ is why it's okay to feel; this is how good it can be. “I get it, David. I get what that's like. All of the pieces of you, they don't fit together until someone walks into your life and shows you how they connect. I felt like I was waiting for my life to start and then Kurt showed up. It's just nice to have someone to share your life with. I get that. I'm living that. And I see that, David, in you. I see it in your eyes.”

David presses him palm flat against the door. “I wish he'd let me back in.”

Blaine smiles a little at him, shoving his shoulder playfully. “He will. Just give him some time. He needs you to make the pieces fit, too.” There's a pinging sound from Blaine's pocket; he digs his phone out and smiles down at the screen. “And I am missed.” He looks back over at David. “You gonna be okay?”

David shrugs. “Guess I'll see.” Blaine pushes himself to his feet and reaches down for the bottle and glasses. “Anderson.” Blaine arches an eyebrow, waiting. “Thanks. You didn't have to do this.”

Blaine actually snorts at him. “David, when are you going to get it through your head? This is what friends do. We always look after our own.”

David smiles at him as he disappears around the corner; the door behind clicks open and he has to scramble not to fall backwards. He turns and meets Luke's eyes as he stares down at David, something between surprise and caution written on Luke's face. He doesn't speak, though, and just leaves the door open and waits for David to reenter the room.

The second the door closes behind him, Luke inhales sharply and turns to face him, hands wringing nervously near the waistband of his briefs. “I talked to my mom,” he explains in a rush. “She helped put some things into perspective for me.”

David settles down on the mattress patiently. “Okay.”

Luke bites his lip and starts to pace in front of David. “The last boyfriend I had -- the only boyfriend I've had, actually, before you -- was older than I was. Not that important, honestly. But I was sixteen and... naïve. And it wasn't bad, at first. He treated me well, wooed me properly and everything. We'd been together three weeks before he expressed his desire for something more physical.

“He didn't -- he didn't pressure me, or force me into anything. I want to make that clear.” Luke stops pacing for a minute and meets David's eyes. “It was my choice. And when you're sixteen, you tend to assume the best in people. Why wouldn't you want to be intimate with someone you think you care about?” Luke breaks eye contact and looks down at the floor, exhaling. “It wouldn't have mattered, in the end. Another three weeks and he was gone.”

David's skin starts to vibrate in a way it hasn't in years, the monster bubbling beneath his skin, up and out of his pores. “He used you.” Luke tries to inhale but he exhales at the same time and it sounds so _wrong_ , listening to Luke struggle even when he's not talking about it. “I shouldn't have left.”

Luke looks up and blinks, brow wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

“Just now,” David clarifies. “I shouldn't have left.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, I asked for space. You gave it to me. I needed it --”

“No,” David says firmly, and he doesn't know where this is coming from, this strength and ridiculous need to prove himself. His stomach churns the same way it did when Luke revealed the scar at the back of his neck, and David remembers he has the power to break his boyfriend.

But he has the power to put the pieces together, too.

“No,” he says again, rising from the bed and crossing the few paces between them. “I promised you I wasn't going anywhere.”

Luke sighs. “David, that's not --”

David reaches out and cups Luke's face in his hands. “I'm. Not. Going anywhere.”

Luke's eyes are wide and he's barely breathing but he doesn't move away and David knows he's making the right choices, now. “I know,” Luke whispers. “I need to learn to trust you. I can't keep comparing every guy to him, especially you.”

David's thumb wanders back, tracing the scar on Luke's neck. “Remind me to send your mom some flowers.”

Luke grins at him. “I'm sure she'll appreciate that. She really likes you, you know.”

“I like her.” David leans in, eyes fluttering closed, and lets his lips ghost over Luke's. “And I love you,” he murmurs against Luke's lips.

Luke inhales, pulling away, but leans in closer all the same. “I can't say it back,” he breathes into David's mouth. “And it's not because I don't --”

“I know,” is all David says.

Their lips meet, and the pieces click into place.


	5. Breaking at the Britches

**Four: Breaking at the Britches - December 2024**

It's been eighty-five days since the diagnosis.

It started with red on white.

David remembers that much. Crimson on porcelain, sanguine on linen. David's used to the sight of blood, but it's usually his own, dripping from his nose. He can count the number of times he's seen Luke bleed on one hand.

“All done,” Lisa announces, ruffling Luke's hair a little.

Luke doesn't respond.

“You can rest a little, if you want, before you go home,” Lisa offers, smile faltering a little. She glances over at David.

Luke's eyes remain shut but his hand slowly inches across the hospital bed, searching for David's. “Can you- bathroom, first.” Wordlessly, David grasps Luke's hand and slowly guides him out of the bed, waiting patiently as Luke hesitates, legs dangling over the edge. David's eyes take in Luke's frame, lingering at his hips; the jeans are still dark, fabric still not stretched even with use. The belt strung through the loops is brown leather and virtually useless at this point. It's been two weeks they replaced Luke's wardrobe and the pants are too big. They don't fit.

Nothing seems to fit, any more.

Luke inhales and secures their grip, clinging to David tightly as he pushes himself up and off of the mattress. The second his feet touch the ground, he moves one hand to David's elbow, head still bowed and eyes closed in an attempt to keep focus. Luke's still for a moment but then falters, knees buckling. David catches him by the elbows just barely, grip tight and firm. “Sit back down,” David suggests, glancing over at Lisa for support. “There's no rush.” Gently, he helps Luke settle back down onto the mattress.

Luke inhales sharply when he tries to shift back into a lying position, nearly gasping, and tightens his grip on David's arms. It takes David two seconds to grab the metal bowl from the table next to the bed and shove it in front of Luke; Luke heaves, the sound of vomit echoing against the bowl, and there's nothing to do but wait until it's over. Luke's shaking by the time he's done, his body ill-equipped to handle the convulsions. Jaw set and one hand firm on Luke's shoulder, David starts to pass the bowl over to Lisa --

It ends with black on silver.

David's eyes widen a little as he glances down into the bowl, the unfamiliar contents making his skin crawl. Lisa takes the bowl from him, lips pursed “Stiltskin,” she says quietly, eyes darting to Luke for a moment. She clears her throat. “I'll go get Dr. Stiltskin.”

Luke settles back into the pillows, cushion doing little to provide comfort to his bones. He's drifting again, David can tell, too fatigued to stay awake, in too much pain to actually sleep. David leans down, pressing his lips to Luke's forehead. “I'll be right back,” he promises, squeezing Luke's hand.

“Lisa,” David hisses, hastening to follow her out of the room. “Lisa, what is that?”

She sighs, stopping and turning to face him. “Blood,” she says simply.

David blinks and shakes his head. “It's black,” he says slowly, confused.

“That's the color it turns if it comes into contact with stomach acid,” she informs him. “This isn't the first time this has happened, David. You know that.”

“No, I know, but --” David bites his lip, glancing down at the bowl; his stomach churns again. “Has it always been like that?”

Lisa shakes her head. “Not at first, no. When you first brought him in, it was red, before we made the diagnosis. This isn't that uncommon with stomach cancer. Dr. Stiltskin told you about the symptoms, and the side effects of the chemotherapy --”

“I know,” David sighs impatiently, squeezing his eyes shut.

Lisa's quiet for a moment. “You've never actually seen it, have you?” she guesses. “Any time he's vomited blood, you haven't actually seen it.”

David shakes his head, planting his palm flat against the wall in a desperate attempt to find purchase. “No.”

“The worst might be over,” she tries. “This was his last round of chemo --”

“Can you just... get Jerry?” David asks, cutting her off. “See what we do next? If he should stay tonight? Something, anything?”

“Of course.” Lisa's tone is patient as ever but all David wants is for her to be gone, to be left alone. His eyes sting as he marches militantly halfway down the hall, close enough to see Luke's door but far enough away that he can just have a minute to himself. He leans against the wall, back stiff and rigid, palms flat against the plaster. Closing his eyes, he slides down, tile uncomfortable as he sits, knees bent and tucked against his chest.

For the first time in eighty-five days, David lets himself cry.

He draws up and into himself, forehead pressing hard against his knees. He squeezes his eyes shut against the world because if he can't see it, it can't see him and maybe he doesn't exist and maybe none of this is happening. But he still cries -- no, _sobs_ \-- viciously, ruining his slacks and making noises that aren't anywhere close to human but he doesn't even care anymore because it's all just a little too much, now. He's thirty years old and he feels like he's six, curled up on the floor with no one to comfort him, no one to tell him that everything is going to be okay. There's no one to tell him it's wrong to feel the way he does, no one to piece him -- or Luke -- together.

“Dave.”

David glances up, vision blurry as the tears rest on his lashes. He brushes them away a little with the back of his hand, trying to focus. His chest seizes a little at the sight, tension melting from his shoulders. “Santana,” he chokes out.

She's on her knees and at his side instantly, tugging him into her arms and cradling his head against her chest. “Jesus, Dave,” she huffs out. He fists a hand in her blouse, silently begging her not to say any more, for once. She's silent, body warm and solid against his, and David has never been more grateful that their friends insisted on this, on shifts and a support system. Santana's the last of them, this time around, the final thread for David to cling to, the last glimmer of hope. She's always his way out, whether she's wearing a beret or a prom dress or kissing a girl.

Eventually, he stops crying but they still in silence for several moments, Santana's fingers carding through David's hair, lips pressed against his temple. “Everyone keeps telling me to wait,” he says after a while, his voice hoarse. “Wait to see how he responds to the chemo, wait until the tumor shrinks enough to operate, wait to see if he goes into remission.”

“Tired of waiting?” Santana guesses, nails scratching gently against David's scalp.

David shakes his head. “It's just... it's getting harder and harder to look at him and not see a dying man, Santana.”

She pulls away a little, hooking her fingers under his chin and forcing him to meet her gaze. “Hey, no,” she says firmly. “You're not allowed to do that. You're not allowed to give up on him.”

“I'm not,” David insists, sighing.

Santana's eyes search his face for a long moment before she sighs, shaking her head. “You've got to stop this,” she admonishes. “I get that you want to be there for him, and I get how much strength that takes. But I know you,” she reminds him. “I know you and I know how you work and I know that you're closing yourself off.”

David sits up, squaring his shoulders a little. “He needs me, Santana.”

She nods, not disagreeing, but David can tell she's not letting it go. “And you need someone, for you. They have support groups for that, you know.”

David shakes his head, shifting uncomfortably. “That's not -- I don't have the time. I have --”

“Dave, if you don't do something to find an outlet for this fucking hell you're going through, I swear to god, I will go all Lima Heights.”

David glances sideways at her; her jaw is set and there's a fire in her eyes he hasn't seen in years but he can barely meet her gaze for more than a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. He reaches out a hand, threading his fingers through her strands. “No razorblades,” he throws back, grinning at her.

She flushes but smiles a little, nudging his shoulder with her own. “What am I walking into?” she asks softly. “Brit said he had nosebleeds when she saw him, that he wasn't eating much, slept a lot.”

“I wish that'd been the worst of it,” David sighs. “He's -- look, Santana, I'm warning you now. He's lost a lot of weight.”

Santana arches an eyebrow. “He didn't have any weight to lose,” she argues. “Boy's always been on the tiny side --”

“He's lost weight,” David says flatly. “Just -- keep that in mind. I can't give you much else to prepare you for that.”

She nods but reaches out a hand to rest on his knee, ducking her head to gauge his reactions better. “There's more,” she prompts gently. “Isn't there?”

The ache in the center of his chest comes back again and David shakes with the effort not to cry. “He's sick,” he says hesitantly. “The vomiting is normal, but --” He stops, inhaling sharply, and doesn't find the strength to continue until Santana's hand moves from his knee to the nape of his neck, tracing feather-light patterns against the skin there. “He's vomiting blood, Santana. And I knew that, but --”

“But you hadn't seen it,” she finishes for him. He turns to look at her as she squeezes her eyes shut, nails digging into his neck a little. “Fuck,” she hisses.

David reaches for Santana's hand and intertwines their fingers together. “How long are you here for?”

Her entire face softens as she opens her eyes and looks at him. “As long as you need me,” she promises, squeezing his hand. “We always look after our own. You taught me that.”

David smiles a little at her. “No,” he argues, shaking his head. “You taught me that the day you told me you knew I was gay.”

She laughs a little at him. “I blackmailed you, I believe. I think there's a difference.”

David shrugs. “You kept my secret and when I got outed, you were there for me then. Not much has changed, Santana.”

A small smile tugs at her lips. “And you took me in,” she reminds him, tapping his nose affectionately. “Don't think I've forgotten. It goes both ways, Dave.” Slowly, she pushes herself to her feet and offers a hand to David. “Come on. Let's go take care of your boy.”

David takes Santana's hand and leaves his tears on the floor.


	6. Crushed Veneer

**Five: Crushed Veneer - January 2020**

There are days when David wonders if he's being tested. Today is one of those days.

It's been one of those weeks, really. He and Luke don't fight often, but when they do, it's tense and heated and full of biting words and pointed silences that go on for days; they usually end with Luke throwing his body against David's, all teeth and nails and desperation. It's David, in the end, who usually reaches out for Luke's hand on the bed (or the couch, or the the kitchen floor, or in the shower), both of them trying to come down. He's never been good with words but he's always the one to use them first.

He can't quite figure out where he went wrong, this time. Luke's been on edge all week, glaring and quiet and shrugging out of David's touch more often than not. Now, he sits across the table from David, candles illuminating the table; the light casts shadows across Luke's face and he looks gorgeous except for the frown on his face as he picks at the salad in front of him with a fork. David bites his lip and slowly reaches his hand across the table, fingers brushing lightly against the top of Luke's hand. Luke retracts his fingers, forming a fist, and David sighs, dropping his fork to his plate. “Are you really going to do this to me?” he sighs. “It's our anniversary.”

Luke looks up from his plate, eyes unguarded and surprised for a moment, but the wall goes back up after a moment and he shrugs, looking back down. “I'm just not hungry.”

“That's not --” David sighs, rubbing his temple in frustration. “Maybe we should just get the check.”

“Maybe,” Luke echos faintly.

David's mouth twists unpleasantly in frustration for the next few minutes as their plates are cleared and he pays for their meal. Luke shrugs his jacket back on as they make their way into the lobby. “Wait for me here?” David asks. “Bathroom.” Luke merely nods, leaning against the wall in the entryway.

In the bathroom, David grips the edge of a sink and leans over, shutting his eyes and exhaling. It's never been this hard, this difficult before. Being with Luke is supposed to be easy. Nothing has ever been forced or tense or unwanted. But lately... Lately, David can't seem to do anything right. He constantly feels barred out of his own life, like he's not allowed in on a secret. He doesn't understand the game Luke's playing.

He opens his eyes and sees red against white for the thousandth time and groans. He reaches for a paper towel and runs it under the tap, pressing it against his face and waiting for his nose to stop bleeding. He's gotten them far less often in the last four years (four years, and he doesn't understand why Luke doesn't seem to want him anymore) and isn't used to the way it stings and clogs his system, inhibiting him. He feels disconnected as the blood drips from his nose.

Finally, though, he manages to stem the flow with the warm cloth and wipes his face clean, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. His face looks more tired than usual, eyes heavy and dark, shoulders sagged with weight. He doesn't know how to fix it. He doesn't know what he did. With a sigh, he tosses the towel into the trash can near the door and makes his way into the lobby.

David stops in his tracks, though, when he catches sight of Luke again; the only part of his boyfriend that's visible is part of his face, the rest of him obscured the shoulders and frame of a tall, gray-haired man. “Luke?”

Luke looks past the man as David joins them, eyes curious and questioning. “Everything okay?” David asks hesitantly. He takes in Luke's position, the way his hands are plastered to the wall, his face pale and his eyes wide, and something churns in his gut. Suddenly, it doesn't matter that Luke doesn't seem to want anything to do with him. Luke is unmoving, frozen and silent, but David looks into the blue of his eyes and can hear the words Luke isn't saying: _I need you near me_. Moving to stand next to Luke, he offers out a hand. “David Karofsky.”

“Glenn Beckett.” He takes David's hand easily, shaking it firmly, happily. His smile is unsure, though, as his eyes keep darting to Luke. “So how do you know Luke?” he asks, trying to break the tension.

“Um, FSU,” David chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“FSU,” Glenn says quietly. “So you went to college here. What'd you major in?”

“I'm sorry,” David cuts in, watching Luke squirm uncomfortably. “How'd you say you know Luke?”

“I didn't,” Glenn answers vaguely, shifting his attention back to Luke. “What are you doing now? Where are you working? Are you seeing anyone?”

David colors a little but Luke's obvious discomfort keeps catching his attention. Luke opens his mouth and then shuts it again, seemingly altering between wanting to answer and being unable to. David watches as Luke shifts against the wall, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers tracing a path David knows well --

“Do you... want to grab coffee?” Glenn asks. “I'd offer drinks, but... AA and all.”

Luke's face twists in confusion, brow furrowing, and David finally, finally thinks he understands. “I... don't think that's such a good idea,” he says slowly, inching closer to Luke. Luke looks over at him gratefully, and it's that that makes David feel better about overstepping.

“I'm his father,” Glenn says icily, straightening. “I don't think this is really any of your business, even if you are friends.”

David's stomach tenses (his _father_ ), his fists curling in a way they haven't in years, and David has to fight to keep the monster at bay. He laughs coldly instead. “I don't care who you think you are,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “but you're not his father. You haven't been his father since you tried to bash his head in when he was fourteen.”

Glenn's eyes narrow as his gaze shifts back to Luke. “So you're still --”

“Gay?” Luke finishes airily, finally prying himself from the wall. “Yeah. Never really grew out of that.”

Glenn stares at his son for a moment, and he looks almost... disappointed. “Still,” he says abruptly, turning to face David again. “I don't see what business this is of yours. So if you don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with my son,” he adds, reaching out for Luke's arm.

David steps between them, reaching for Luke's hand; Luke squeezes it tightly in return and David forgets they were even fighting to begin with. “I don't really see what right you have to waltz back into his life when the last time you saw him was bleeding on a floor because of what _you_ did to him. So if _you_ don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands _off_ of my boyfriend.”

Glenn sizes David up -- they're nearly the same size but David has youth and muscles on his side. Four years out of football has made him a little leaner but still built. Finally, with a glance down at their joined hands, Glenn seems to decide that a fight -- or Luke -- isn't worth it. He doesn't look back as he brushes past them, the front door to the restaurant clicking shut with the force of the wind.

David turns back to Luke, hands still linked together, but Luke's eyes are watching the door where his father's figure has just vanished. “Luke?” Luke doesn't respond but his muscles seem to give out a little as he leans forward, hand clutching to David a little tighter.

“Let's go home,” Luke bites out through gritted teeth. “Let's just --”

“Okay,” David says, squeezing his hand a little. “Okay.” David tugs him out the door to the sidewalk, handing their ticket to the valet, and Luke inhales sharply as soon as the valet is gone. David turns to look at him, eyes wide and chest aching, and then Luke's hands are fisting in his shirt, face pressed against David's chest near his neck. “Luke, what --” It takes David a second to hear it, amidst the noise of the street and the city, but the next time Luke takes a breath, he hears it, hears the way the breath isn't even. And then he feels it, feels the way his shirt goes damp as Luke clings to him, feels the tears trickle onto his neck, and he realizes that Luke is crying.

For the first time in the seven and a half years they've known each other, Luke is crying.

But before David can say anything, can try to soothe or comfort his boyfriend, Luke is pulling back and leaning up, kissing David firmly. It's startling, at first, after so long without it, but David kisses back, hands anchoring at the small of Luke's back. He's not sure what he's feeling, really, when Luke pulls away. His brain is still trying to play catch up, still trying to process the fact that Luke's dad was just here, that Luke is completely shaken by it but then just kissed the hell out of him after an entire week...

David opens his eyes, searching Luke's face for a reaction, an emotion, anything. But Luke doesn't open his eyes, just clings to David's shirt a little tighter before --

“I love you,” Luke breathes. David's heart stops as the valet comes back around, dangling the keys in front of him. David hesitates for the space of a second, waiting until Luke opens his eyes before blindly taking the keys from the valet, slipping a tip into the valet's hand. Luke half-glances over at the keys. “Take me home?” he asks quietly. “Please?”

“Okay,” David whispers. “I -- okay.” They don't speak the entire drive home but David feels brave enough to reach over and rest his hand on top of Luke's; he breathes a little easier when Luke turns his hand over, grasping David's firmly.

David barely has time to stick his keys in the lock and shut the front door behind them before Luke is backing him against it, arms wrapping around David's neck, lips tracing down David's jawline. “I love you,” Luke whispers again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Why now?” David inquires, fighting to stay focused as Luke's lips work him over, the shock almost too much for his system after a week without. “We've been together four years. Why did you say it now?”

Luke pulls away a little, eyes shining. “No one has treated me the way you have,” Luke reminds him. “No one has _loved_ me the way you do. And tonight, with my dad, you stood up for me. You didn't walk away. You're --”

“-- not going anywhere,” David finishes. “Is -- is that what this was about, this week? Was this a test or something? Push me until you see if I push back?”

Luke bites his lip. “Maybe? I -- I don't know. It's just been a little too... comfortable. And -- four years, David. It's a long time. I guess I just wanted to see if --”

“Hey,” David cuts in gently, pressing his index finger against Luke's lips gently. “I'm not going anywhere. Don't stop trusting me now.”

“I'm sorry,” Luke says quietly. “I won't -- not again. Not after this.”

David's chest swells and threatens to burst but he ignores it for now because Luke still needs him. “You okay? What did he say to you?”

Luke tenses a little but leans in closer, and David can see him replaying the scene in his mind. “Nothing important. All bullshit.”

“You sure you're okay?” David checks, ducking his head to look at Luke's face. “You seemed... off.”

“You mean terrified,” Luke laughs hollowly. He looks back up at David, a small smile playing at his face. “I was scared,” he admits. “I felt fourteen again. But then you showed up and I remembered that I wasn't a little kid anymore. I knew you weren't going to let him hurt me.”

“Never,” David promises, thumb tracing across Luke's jawline.

Luke's breath hitches and he grabs a fist full of David's shirt, tugging him in for a wet, messy kiss, all dirty and full of tongue. And suddenly the world rights itself again, the doors opening and Luke is letting David back in with every article of clothing shed across the carpet of the hallway and bedroom. And this, this is what feels right, good, human again, feeling Luke's skin against his, limbs steady, hands and fingers tracing over well-known paths and looking to elicit predictable and desired reactions. A thrill runs down David's spine every time Luke arches his back, up and in towards David; he's never felt so wanted, so loved.

Luke loves him.

The world blurs into white (just white, not red) as he comes; the next thing he can register is Luke's fingers tracing over his abdomen, the skin there damp and cold and slightly sticky but clean. His eyes focus on Luke's face as Luke's fingers dance across his chest, his lips following. “Love you,” Luke murmurs into his skin.

David smiles because it's back to being easy again, words unfailing and every touch invited, and sometimes he forgets that he is the glue keeping Luke together. He leans over to kiss Luke and say it back (and that's something new, being able to say it back) when his phone starts to ring. They both groan and laugh simultaneously, curling into each other. “Leave it,” Luke groans, lips moist against David's jaw.

David seriously considers giving in but it's too soon to get this worked up again so he shakes his head, still laughing. “Let me see who it is.” He reaches over the side of the bed and snatches his pants off of the floor, digging around in the pocket. He smiles a little at the name. “It's my dad.”

Luke sighs. “Go, go,” he says, waving David away. He starts to move away to give David more room but then rolls back and on top, kissing David full on the mouth. He laughs as he pulls away. “Okay, now you can go.”

David can't fight the grin that spreads across his face as he accepts the call. “Hi, Dad,” he laughs into the phone.

“Hey! Is this a bad time?” his father asks brightly.

“No,” he assures his father, still laughing as Luke readjusts the pillows to his liking. David rolls out of bed and tugs his boxers and shirt back on, leaving the buttons undone. He settles into the chair at Luke's desk, free hand fiddling with a pen as he talks to his father. He catches Luke staring at him a few times, sprawled out on the bed with his arms propped up behind his head, grinning. David rolls his eyes but grins back, turning to sit in the chair correctly. He feels Luke's hands at his shoulders as the conversation comes to a close, and then Luke's lips are back on his neck again, tracing feather-light kisses as David says goodbye to his father.

David's too happy to tease at this point so he lets it go, eyes following the edges of the dress shirt Luke's thrown back on as he stretches his arms around David, fingers reaching for the keys of the typewriter. David can't help grinning as Luke clacks away slowly, black printing on white, letters coming together to form words. It's not until the second to last word, though, twelve letters into the phrase, that David starts to realize what Luke's typing. David's chest seizes as Luke adds two more letters, punctuating the phrase with a question mark.

Luke's hands fall from the keys slowly, resting at David's shoulders as the moment hangs between them, quiet and still. David reads over the question too many times to count before he spins around in the chair to face Luke, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

Luke smiles faintly at him, nodding before biting his lip, his nerves betraying him. “If it's not something you want at all, that's fine. I won't take it personally. I know we haven't really talked about it. But... I meant what I said, earlier. And I didn't want to tell you I love you without something to back it up.”

“And this is you backing it up?” David asks incredulously. “You want --” He stops, unable to speak and for one, wild minute, he thinks the monster's taken over again. He doesn't like the way fear fills his throat, thick and vice-like and constricting. “You want to marry me? You -- you want this?”

There's something... aching in Luke's eyes as he reaches out a hand, thumb running across the apple of David's cheek. “You make me want a lot of things,” he admits quietly. “A lot of things I was afraid to let myself want. But...” He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking from his movement on David's cheek to David's eyes. “I'm not afraid, with you.”

David pushes himself up and out of the chair, then, unable to stop himself. He leans down and in, and gives his answer before pressing his lips to Luke's: “Yes.”


	7. Epilogue: Suckle on the Hope

**Epilogue: Suckle on the Hope - September 2029**

“Come here,” Luke sighs, reaching for a paper towel from the dispenser and getting it wet. He squeezes himself between the edge of the sink and David's body, pressing the towel to David's nose. “You have got to relax.”

David's voice comes out muffled behind the towel. “I'm not good at public speaking.”

Luke flicks his gaze up from David's nose to his eyes, cocking an eyebrow and smirking. “Sort of ironic coming from the guy who gets on the local news every night to talk about sports.” He wipes David's nose one final time before tossing the towel into the nearest trash can.

“That's different,” David groans. “That's in front of a camera. I can't see the audience. It's just sports. This is different. It's a whole room full of people staring at me and it's... personal.”

Luke considers him. “You could always picture people in their underwear.”

David fights back a laugh and anchors a hand at Luke's hip, leaning in and pressing his lips against Luke's ear. “Or I could just picture you in yours. Actually, you could just lose the underwear entirely --”

“Stop,” Luke laughs, batting him away.

“No, I'm serious,” David deadpans, tugging him closer again. “Just forget this altogether and go home and --”

“David, stop,” Luke laughs, succeeding in putting a little more space between them. “Focus. You were the one who agreed to do this. Why?”

David sighs, groaning as he hunches over a little to rest his forehead against Luke's shoulder. “I don't know. I guess... I thought it'd help?”

Luke's quiet for a moment before bringing a hand up to David's hip. “The way it helped you?” he asks softly.

David lifts his head and pulls back, meeting Luke's eyes, warm and bright and proud, and then Luke smiles, glitter infectious. David reaches out to cup Luke's head with both hands and kisses him firmly, ignoring Luke's yelp of surprise and sliding his tongue into Luke's mouth. Luke whines first and then moans, fists grabbing helplessly at David's shirt; he arches and bends back, leaning over the sink a little. If someone had told David seventeen years ago that he'd be married to the beautiful blond man he'd just met and kissing him senseless against the sink in this very same bathroom, David probably would've said they were crazy. Insane. Certifiably.

Luke pushes David back slowly with the tips of his fingers, taking his time in breaking the kiss. “Come on,” Luke presses. “You can do this. There's nothing holding you back.” David smiles a little against Luke's face and exhales slowly. He's not caged in any more.

He does feel like he's in a fishbowl a little, though, when he stands in front of the group, hands gripping the edge of the lectern tightly. They know his name and they know his face but they don't know his story, the one he's here to tell. He's not even sure where to start.

At the beginning.

“When I was in high school, I... wasn't a good person,” he admits, eyes darting around the room. He tries not to actually look at too many faces, afraid of the reactions. “I had a really hard time coming to terms with who I was, and instead of looking for help, I just... tried to survive. And I almost alienated the one person who could even possibly understand what I was going through. I --” David stops and squeezes his eyes shut, mouth dry and throat closed; he hasn't felt this guilty about it in a long time. He feels sixteen again, ashamed and paranoid and desperate to get out of his own skin; he doesn't want to have to own up to this again. He feels a warm hand on his shoulder and snaps open his eyes in surprise, glancing over --

Blaine.

Over Blaine's shoulder, David sees them all, Kurt and Santana and Brittany and even Jacob, huddled quietly in the doorway, watching him. His jaw drops open as he stammers a little. Blaine's hand tightens on his shoulder and David looks back at him, eyes questioning. But Blaine just smiles, corners of his mouth turning up, and he doesn't have to speak for David to remember Blaine's words, the ones that made it all okay.

_You're not alone._

He remembers the scar on Blaine's arm, the one on his own back, the two that Luke bears and the one he knows Brittany wears at the back of her neck, and he doesn't feel alone.

He feels connected.

And as if on cue, Kurt slides into the room quietly, linking his hand with Blaine's; Santana and Brittany follow, and then they're literally connected, hands and shoulders and skin and scars, and David doesn't know if he can speak, any more.

He draws in a breath and turns towards the room again, eyes falling to the front row; Luke's eyes meet his own, and with a nod, he smiles.

David tries again. “I treated him the worst. And when he found out I was gay, he didn't out me. He didn't try to get revenge. He tried to help me.” He glances back at the other four. “They all did.” He turns to face the room again, and the bars of the cage are gone. He can breathe again.

“We grew up. We went our separate ways, off to different colleges and different states. But at the end of the day, none of that mattered, because what they taught me -- what we taught each other,” he amends, “was that time and distance didn't matter. It didn't matter that we were hundreds or thousands of miles apart, or that we could only see each other a few times a year.” David turns slightly and meets Santana's eyes. “We always had a place to go home to.”

“That's what this is,” David says to the room at large. “PFLAG -- it's more than just parents and friends of lesbians and gays. It's more than a board room on a college campus where you meet once a month or once every two weeks. It's a safe place.” He glances over at Blaine, who squeezes David's shoulder again and smiles a little wider. “It's a place to be... educated,” David says carefully, grinning over at Kurt, who actually hums a little in an attempt not to laugh. “A place where you're always going to be accepted, even by those you might not expect to,” he continues, smiling at Brittany. “And it's a place --”

David stops again, swallowing thickly as he shifts his gaze back to Luke, who looks like he's fighting the urge to get up and join them. There's a pause, and then, “Oh my god, get your skinny ass up here,” Santana grumbles, waving Luke over. There's a chuckle that bubbles through the room as Luke flushes and pushes himself out of his seat, linking his arm through David's free one, anchoring himself there, anchoring David.

David resists the urge to lean down and kiss him and instead turns back to the attendees. “It's a place to connect, a place where -- no matter who you are, what you've done, what you want or where you're at -- someone will always reach out to help you.” He looks back down at Luke and smiles. “Someone will always see you, even when you think you're invisible.”

Luke grins and leans up to press his lips to David's ear. “I always see you.”

There's a small smattering of applause as David backs away from the lectern and the president of the FSU chapter starts to instruct everyone into small groups. Luke grips David's arm a little more tightly as David turns to face their friends. “You guys didn't have to come,” he says thickly. “I know you start school soon, Jake. It's your freshman year --”

“Oh my god, Uncle Dave, shut up,” Jacob sighs. “You act like I had a choice. My dads dragged me along.”

“Oh look at you two,” Santana drawls happily, ruffling Jacob's hair. “You raised a proper, bratty fourteen-year-old. I'm so proud.”

“I wouldn't miss this,” Kurt cuts in, reaching out and squeezing David's hand. “It's my fault you're here to begin with.”

“And your fault he's with Luke,” Brittany adds, grinning over at her best friend.

“Still, they're long flights --” David points out.

“David,” Blaine sighs. “Stop. How many times do I have to tell you that this is what friends do? Time and distance don't matter. Sound familiar?”

David bites back a grin. “A little.”

“And besides,” Blaine adds, standing up on his toes a little to wrap his arms around David's neck, “we always look after our own.”


End file.
